


coming down

by freakedelic



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [12]
Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blackmail, Cigarettes, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Noncontober 2020, Oral Sex, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26436073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakedelic/pseuds/freakedelic
Summary: Slade laughs. “I know what’s important to you, kid. I know what decision I would make, in your shoes. But I promise you, just like there has never been anything stopping you from walking out that door, there is nothing stopping you from refusing to do what I tell you.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917016
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	coming down

**Author's Note:**

> written for noncontober day 12: coercion, whumptober day 12: broken down, kinktober day 12: shotgunning

Renegade sits on the couch. His feet barely brush the too-expensive carpet as he stares straight ahead, back ramrod straight. That’s how he’s been trained, and disobeying his training comes with a heavy, painful cost. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t consider it.

Like now.

With the echoes of Slade’s words running through his mind. The ones he’d spoken to his client.

_Killing_.

He looks to Slade, cautious. Slade is relaxed, easy, smoking a cigarette. That’s something he rarely does; something that only happens when he’s satisfied. Robin hates the stench of it.

This is a step up from what they’ve been doing. In the past, he’d been running small jobs for Deathstroke, but now . . . now he might just have to make the final decision, the endgame decision.

“Master, will—”

Slade’s head whips around, impossibly cold eye fixed on him, and Robin has the terrible sense that he was waiting for him. “You will do as I say, apprentice.”

“You want me to—”

“Have you forgotten,” Slade says softly, dangerously, “what I promised would happen to your _friends_ , boy?”

Robin goes still. He had not. How could he, when Slade dangles it before him every day. That’s the thing Slade has always been asking, the question he has always demanded: how far will Robin go for him? How far will he go for his friends? And when it comes down to it, what will he do?

“You’re going to make me—”

“I am not,” Slade says slowly, as if Robin is stupid, “ _making_ you do anything. I am offering you a _choice_. Life is full of choices.”

Robin looks at him, sick. “But you know what I’m going to—”

Slade laughs. “I know what’s _important_ to you, kid. I know what decision I would make, in your shoes. But I promise you, just like there has never been anything stopping you from walking out that door, there is nothing stopping you from refusing to do what I tell you.”

Slade isn’t lying. Slade _doesn’t_ lie. Doesn’t have to. Not when it comes to keeping him under control. Not when Robin knows the truth in his friends’ lives being on the line.

There’s no way out of this.

Robin just looks at him, his eyes filling with tears. He wants to pretend that it’s the cigarette smoke, that it’s not because he’s on the edge of betraying everything he ever believed, but he knows better. Lying to himself—is too easy for him to buy into. No matter how much he wants to.

Slade turns towards him, cigarette between a thumb and forefinger. He takes a drag, then beckons Robin forward. Robin does it without thinking, even before Slade grabs his hair and tilts his head back. Seconds later Robin is coughing with a mouthful of smoke, sputtering on something disgusting. The tears in his eyes are from how he feels like he’s hacking up half his lungs. It’s only a few seconds later he realizes Slade is chuckling.

“Can’t handle a smoke, can you, kid?”

Robin glares at him. His lip aches. Slade must have bit him when he kissed him. “It’s gross.”

“Well,” Slade smirks, leering closer, “I’m sure we can find a better use for your mouth.”

Robin pales. “No, I don’t mind, I mean—”

Slade leans in and the stench of cigarettes intensifies. “I think you’ll be able to think over your options just fine while on your knees.” He snaps his fingers, as if to say _get to it_ , and Robin slowly sinks down.

He could refuse. Tell Slade to go fuck himself _himself_. But that would mean the death of his friends. So he opens his mouth and shivers at his fingers unzipping Slade. The man’s half-hard already, and Robin knows that he’s looking down on him. It tastes less acrid than the cigarette smoke, at least, as he licks a stripe from balls to tip. He swirls his tongue around the head, taking it into his mouth as Slade groans—

Choking as it’s shoved down his throat, tears from his gag reflex trickling down his face. Slade’s finger brushes it away. Seconds later, the burning end of a cigarette is pressed against his cheek. The stench of cooking skin fills his nostrils as he writhes against the hand that pulls him forwards by his hair.

This feels like the end. The end of Robin, the end of everything that might have been. He’s almost glad for the lack of oxygen making his head turn fuzzy. It makes it easier.


End file.
